


Forgotten fighters

by Isidar_Mithrim



Series: May the 2nd 1998 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Battle of Hogwarts, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, May the 2nd 1998, Minor Character(s), Missing Scene, POV Minor Character, Pride, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-09-27 19:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20413153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isidar_Mithrim/pseuds/Isidar_Mithrim
Summary: Few words are enough to bare the soul of a centaur – few words, to make him master of his own fate, to make him part of a strenuous fight for salvation.Few words are also enough to describe the helplessness of a gargoyle, the braveness of a knight, the fury of a little giant and the thoughts of many other characters whose effort we often forget about – wrongly so.After all, even a single grain of rice can tip the scale.{Since every battle has two sides, you may want to read the companion yet opposite collection,Forgotten fighters: the other side' by WarchiefZeke ^^}





	1. Thoughts of a centaur

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Pensieri di combattenti dimenticati](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/513451) by Isidar Mithrim. 

He saw the lifeless body of the boy held in Hagrid’s arms.

He heard the half-giant harsh reproach, but he did’t dare to move nor speak.

A memory played before his eyes – the same boy on Firenze’s back seven years ago, and his own blatant disapproval.

He gazed at the star, looking for their comfort – finding just their judgment.

He took an arrow from his quiver, and suddenly he knew what fate he wanted for it.

Bane gathered the other centaurs around him, he nocked the arrow to the bowstring and for the first time, without regrets, he chose his own destiny.


	2. Thoughts of a gargoyle

_Motionless._

Except for the only move I was capable of.

_Anchored._

Unless I heard that word.

I stood by, awaiting for my one shot at _something._

Then, I saw a breathless boy – I recognised him by his unruly black hair.

I wished I could simply let him pass, but without the word, my feet were tied.

“Dumbledore!”

The boy’d spoken without thinking, but he’d said the right word and I welcomed him with joy, moving aside with practiced ease.

Waiting for his return was grueling.

I wanted to wish him luck, but he passed by with dreadful determination, not sparing me a glance.

**

The boy came back, two weary kids at his side.

I was knocked aside, dizzy – motionless as always.

“Can we go up?” he asked.

It was the first time someone asked my permission.


	3. Thoughts of a knight

The clanging of his armor was almost deafening, and he was heavily burdened by the weight of the iron suit he’d been so jealous of.

It was part of every knight’s duty: polishing and oiling his best defensive weapon, caring for it like for their own horse.

That day, he got out of his armor for the first time. He looked his pony in the eyes, and he knew he wasn’t going to need his spurs anymore.

He conveyed his drive in the grip of his hands, that clenched tight sword and bridle.

Sir Cadogan wasn’t _really _able to protect who fought at his side, but his cries of encouragement were balm for his allays tired limbs, and for the first time he felt like a true Knight.


	4. Thoughts of a little giant

Isn’t it brave, willingly fight your own blood, if their choices turned out to be unacceptable?

Isn’t it true, that history can repeat itself?

How often the outcast redeems his own kind…

They giants were there, scary, huge, _colossal_, but he kept pursuing his only quest: protecting Hagger.

His fury flared up – relentless.

His strength was unlashed – unpredictable.

His war cries, barer of death, raised – unbearable. 

It was a loss cause, but he fought nonetheless, and that was Grawp’s true victory.


	5. Thoughts of sinister creatures

_Invisible._

Inexistent to human eyes, that had been the standard.

That night, though, a war was being fought – that night, there was no place for normal daily life.

They appeared without warning, oddly sinister – oddly unsettling.

The Thestrals teared through enemy flesh without mercy, knocking down those gigantic beasts.

The other fighters laid stunned eyes on their wiry bodies – they let their gaze take in the their majestic wings.

None of them was ever going to just _imagine _the invisible horses carrying Hogwarts stagecoaches to the gates.

None of them was ever going to forget the unforgettable memory of the war deaths, nor the burning imagine of the lifeless corpses scattered on the ground.


	6. The castle

Hogwarts walls were impenetrable.

Or better, they’d been – until now.

Now, the chance a wizard saw the school as a Muggle would have was high, because the walls were collapsing, killing indiscriminately friends and foes – a tragic reminder of the devastating power unleashed by the armies.

And yet, in its own way, the castle was fighting back.

The empty armors McGonagall had enlivened became lethal, their violent blows too unpredictable even for the best wizards.

The stampede of angry desks run through the halls full of rubble, trampling the masked figures and rendering them helpless.

**

Hogwarts had opened all its doors, had unveiled all its most intimate secrets to the young boy who – turned monster – didn’t care about its doom anymore.

When the first brick fall, the castle had already picked its side.

When that brick made the cups of the trophy room rattle, only Tom Riddle’s Special Award for Services to the School dropped to the floor.


	7. Thoughts of a poltergeist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly in love with this one, but here it is ^^'

He felt at ease, in the rising bustle.

Stirring up the students’ hysteria had always been is favorite pastime – along with making Filch miserable, of course.

When he saw the caretaker he flew toward him scornful and sneering, ready to grab Mrs Purr from the tail to swing her in the air.

“Peeves!” he shrieked.

Peeves answered blowing a raspberry.

“Stupid Poltergeist,” said Filch, panting, “McGonagall is looking for you! You-know-who is coming at Hogwarts! Get a move on!”

Peeves actually listened, and for the first time he flew over the corridors packed with students without annoying them.

**

_Resourcefulness_.

He’d always used it for the art of teasing, until now.

Now, for the first time, he directed it toward higher aims.

He saw the castle walls crumbling around him, while he fought to obstruct those hooded figures.

_New feelings_.

For the first time he’d tasted _fear_, that night.

For the first time, he knew what it felt bing _proud of himself_.

And yet, only when he saw the motionless body of one of his favorite mischief-maker he knew what _pain _was.


	8. Thoughts of an hippogriff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very fond of this one, but Buckbeak deserves to be remembered as well ^^

**Thoughts of a hippogriff**

He descended upon the humungous giant, wounding his grotesque face with his sharp claws.

He had just the time of a flutter to escape the hungry and angry hand that tried to knock him down.

He pretended to fly away, then he steered abruptly and pounced the beast again.

His proud and hooked beak snapped rapacious, and blood gushed from the injuries orbits of the colossal creature, blinded by fury and pain.

The giant swung his arms wreaking havoc among the fighting Thestrals, he drifted on his unsteady feet, making the earth quake and almost trampling on the fighters below.

Then, ropes from nowhere tied the giant’s legs together and he crashed on the ground.

Buckbeak glared at him with triumph and descend upon him again, ready to make sure the giant wasn’t going to see the end of the battle – because Hagrid’s friend were his own, and that creature had hurt Grawp.


	9. Thoughts of an house elf – Part one

The pot crashed on her bottle and it shattered to the ground, spilling Firewhiskey on her anorexic legs.

She stood up trying to avoid the fragments of glass surrounding her, but she staggered despite the effort, clouded by the alcohol and the shock.

She fall on her hand and knees, the sharp glass piercing through her flesh, and no one stopped over to help her.

A shiver run through her spine when that cold voice echoed for the umpteenth time, and somewhere in the kitchen an elf was brandishing a cleaver, speaking of Masters and fights and regular lockets, saying they should hurry with the pottery.

The other house elves shouted and cheered, fired up, and they disappeared as the food usually did when sent to the Great Hall.

Left alone, Winky crawled on the floor to reach the dark corner where she kept her Firewhiskey. Horror rushed upon her when she realised most of the bottles were shattered, and she searched with trembling hand for a full one.

She eventually found one intact bottle, and after struggling to uncork it she resumed drinking, unaware of how many her wounds were, how deep they’d became while she'd dragged herself over that secluded corner in desperate need for another dose.

Above her, young elves were conquering their freedom on the battlefield or dying in the attempt – below her, the pool of blood was spreading as fast as the alcohol descending down her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that, I guess? ^^' I hope I can redeem myself with the last drabble ;)  
I know JKR said she fought as well, but I had this headcanon (and I had written this drabble) since before she said it – or before I found out, at least, and it sticked.


	10. Thoughts of a house elf – Part two

When the castle trembled above their heads, several pots crashed on the hard floor.

The elf stumbled on a metal pan and fall down swearing, instinctively dropping the tray he was holding to put his hands ahead.

The fall cut out his breath for a moment, and he felt his left knee aching against the cold stone. He pushed himself up with tentative movements and glanced at the spot were his right knee had impacted with the floor, wondering what the soft thing that had protected it might be.

He saw a messy bunch of colorful clothes – a tea cozy, a wool sweater and several mismatched socks decorated with moving images and flashing, colorful lights.

He knew immediately to whom they belonged, and he had to drove out the anguish for his prolonged absence.

Then, he saw the only plain garment of the bunch – a single black sock.

_The sock of freedom_.

The castle trembled again and again, and when the Dark Lord voice announced his triumph over Master Harry and Kreacher get ready to fight in the name of his deceased Masters, it was a free choice of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this collection ^^  
I hope I inspired some thoughts about these characters :)
> 
> EDIT: To my delight, my Ao3 friend WarchiefZeke was indeed inspired and wrote a companion collection from the opposite prospective! It's called '[Forgotten fighters: the other side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712464)' and I recommend you to read it if you liked this one ^^  
We often have diametrically opposite visions about may situations and characters and it's been really interesting chatting about it and reading his prospective so far! :)
> 
> Feel free to drop any feedback, suggestion, correction about the story or the translation, opinion about headcanons and so on ^^  
If you want, you can also find me on [tumblr](https://isidar-mithrim.tumblr.com) ;)


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